


The Truths We Don't Say

by TheBashfulPoet



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dorks in Love, F/M, Fluff, Mutual Pining, Trips to Rome, Vacation, travel AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-19
Updated: 2017-05-19
Packaged: 2018-11-02 15:42:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10947588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBashfulPoet/pseuds/TheBashfulPoet
Summary: Honestly, Bellamy has no idea how he ended up in the situation he’s in. One day he is sorting things around in his office and now he is standing in this hallway at an ungodly hour with a suitcase at his feet and his eyes glued to the closed door before him. Seriously, how did he end up here?The vacation AU someone actually asked for :)





	The Truths We Don't Say

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to the prompt that ate my entire life and turned out to be way longer than it should have been. So to the Anon who requested it, I hope you enjoyed your treat!
> 
> Also for those who are waiting for the next update for TCIOA, please know that I have been rejuvenating to get started on the final two parts and now that school is over, I'm dedicating my time to finishing it up hopefully by the end of the summer! Keep a look out!
> 
> And as always, I hope you enjoy the story!

Honestly, Bellamy has no idea how he ended up in the situation he’s in. One day he is sorting things around in his office and now he is standing in this hallway at an ungodly hour with a suitcase at his feet and his eyes glued to the closed door before him. Seriously, how did he end up here? Bellamy is nothing more than a simple man.

In fact, there are only three things he wanted to do in life: see his baby (not so baby now) sister graduate college, get his masters in Classical Studies, and go to Rome. That’s it. That’s all Bellamy wanted in life and he is proud to say that at just 25 years old he is almost done with that list. He has since bumped his goal from a master's degree to completing his doctorate and Octavia graduated with her B.S. in athletic training last year (though she has put her degree to the side for her MMA career). So really, Bellamy feels pretty accomplished in life, even if he didn’t do  _ everything _ on that list.

Truth be told, he never really thought he would be able to scratch off any of the above listed items, especially the last (really it was just there so he could dream). Growing up, Bellamy had to scrape by with every meager paycheck his mother could bring home from her three jobs and then — later on— his own checks once he was old enough to work. Yet, it was never enough to keep all three of them well fed or dressed. He spent more nights than he would like to admit without sleep or food to make sure his little sister had food in her stomach and dressed well enough the kids would leave her alone (at least slightly). When he got older, applying to college seemed like a waste of time considering he would never be able to afford it. But, with some convincing by Octavia and Miller, he did. He was awarded a full ride to Arcadia University, the local school in the area, and for once everything seemed like it was going to work out. Then his mother died and he was left scrambling to cover the loss of income and the responsibility of becoming a guardian of a 13 year old (not to mention the roaring hold grief had carved into his chest).

At first, he didn’t think he could do it: working two jobs, going to school full time, dealing with Octavia acting out, it all just seemed like too much and he felt like he was drowning. And he might of, if not for his friends who refused to let him do it alone. Eventually, things started to look up, Miller moved in to help with bills, Octavia found a gym to take out all her anger, and he finally learned to lean on someone (even if it pained him to do so). As the years went by, money became less and less of an issue, but Rome was still never in the picture, even with his job as a teacher at the university.

Which means that when Bellamy is presented the opportunity to do so, he is notably surprised. More so when said opportunity comes from one Clarke Griffin.

 

* * *

 

“Bellamy.”

He turns around to see Clarke leaning against the frame of his office door, her arms crossed over her chest and a fond smile on her lips.

“Clarke!” He pushes his glasses up on his nose and sets down the books he had been putting away, “What are you doing here? I thought you were supposed to be in the studio today?”

She waves him off, “Nope, Jasper and Monty needed me to come in to do some artwork on a rig they are building for some celebrity, so I put off my studio day.”

“Oh? Did you want to get lunch or something?” He cocks an eyebrow and leans on his desk. It wasn’t odd for Clarke to randomly show up to take him out for lunch or dinner, but she rarely showed up this early in the day.

“Or something,” she smiles deviously, “Say yes.”

He doesn’t even hesitate before responding, “Yes.”

“Great! Be at my door first thing Friday morning.” She pushed herself off the doorframe and makes to leave, only stopping to rap her knuckles against the wood, “Oh! And pack a bag with enough clothes for a week. Formal and swimming not included. Bye!”

He is left standing in is his office, blinking at the stop where she once stood, as she slips out of the room and down the hall. It takes his mind a few moments to catch up to speed, when he shoots through the door and out in the hallway. Sure enough, Clarke is nearly halfway gone.

Clarke! “What did I say yes to? Where are we going?!”

“To Rome!” She laughs, shoving her hands into her pockets, but never turning around or stopping.

“Rome? Why are we going to  _ Rome _ ?”

She keeps walking.

“What about work?”

“Taken care of,” she calls back.

“What about my dog?”

“Taken care of!”

“ _ Clarke _ !”

At this she turns around, a smile so bright on her face, he forgets the words on his tongue and stares completely transfixed.

“I’ll see you on Friday, Bellamy.”

And with that, she turns back around and disappears around the corner with a wave. 

 

* * *

 

Eventually he would find out that she had an extra ticket to Rome because Raven had to drop out last minute, but that was all he could weasel out of her. So yeah, he really was not expecting to go to Rome, especially not with Clarke Griffin.

That is not to say that he would want to experience Rome for the first time with anyone else (well maybe Octavia, but that’s different). Clarke is easily his best friend even if they didn’t always get along in the beginning. The problem, however, is that Bellamy is unbelievably and pathetically in love with Clarke. He’s not exactly sure when it happened (probably around the time she decided that she would take Octavia to and from the gym so Bellamy could have more time to study) but now it has simply been a fact of life. He lives, he breathes, he loves Clarke. As simple as that.

Somedays the revelation hits him harder than others, with the urge to pull her close and hold her becoming so strong he has to physically restrain his hands at his side from doing so. But most days, he could keep himself in check and the unnecessary touching is at a minimum (lie). Though, that was usually with the buffer of their (rather large) friend group, which would not be accompanying them to Rome.

And thus Bellamy finds himself standing in front of Clarke’s door about to go to the city of his dreams with the girl he’s hopelessly in love with thinking how in the hell he is going to pull this off.

He runs a hand over his face, “Fuck.”

He is so screwed. So very screwed, but at least he’d be screwed in Rome. He rings the doorbell. There is a loud thud followed by the soft mumbling of cursing that floats through the door and Bellamy can’t help but smile. Without a doubt, he has caught Clarke off guard and has left her to stumble her way through her apartment to get to the door (probably because she overslept).

Sure enough, when the door flings open he is greeted by a frenzied Clarke with her blonde hair twisting every which way and a too big sweatshirt sliding off one shoulder (he is pretty sure it is one of his, but since his brain is  _ already _ short-circuiting, he’s going to ignore that little detail).

She narrows her eyes and does her best impression of a grumpy cat, “Shut your mouth, Blake.”

“I didn’t even say anything!” He defends, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Your eyes say differently,” she scowls, pushing the door open wide enough for him to slip in.

“Not my fault you slept in and waited last minute to pack.”

“I didn’t sleep in!” He gives her a look, “Okay I slept in, but I was  _ already _ packed thank you very much.”

Sure enough, as she closes the door, he spies two bags stacked neatly by the door. He eyes the bigger of the two and tilts his head.

“Think you packed enough?”

“Being a girl is hard. There are just so many more pieces of clothing to pack. Not to mention the shoes. Shoes are the  _ worst _ !”

Bellamy laughs, throwing his head back, “You sound just like O.”

“She knows what she is talking about. Wait here”

She disappears up the stairs leading to the loft area where her bed resides and when she returns a few minutes later, her hair is piled on top of her head in a messy bun, a pair of headphones are dangling around her neck, and she is dressed in a pair of shorts that cut off about mid thigh, a black tank top, and a very familiar looking flannel (just how much of his clothes did she steal??) with the sleeves rolled up to her elbows.

“I was looking for that,” he tugs on the hem of the shirt as she walks by, “Like, for months.”

“Yeah, well, keep looking. It’s mine now.”

“Rude.”

She sticks out her tongue and slings the strap of her tote over her shoulder and reaches for the handle of her remaining bag, “Alright, let’s get out of here.”

Bellamy automatically reaches to smack her hand away to grab the suitcase from her. “Let me get that.”

“I can carry my own bag, Bellamy,” she rolls her eyes.

“I know, princess. Doesn’t mean you have to.”

“Isn’t chivalry supposed to be dead?”

“I guess I missed the memo.”

“You’re such a dork.”

“You love it.”

“I really do.”

 

* * *

 

“Tell me again why we’re flying coach?” He shifts around in his seat trying to get comfortable. “Aren’t you supposed to be rich?”

Clarke levels him with a look, “Are you telling me that you wouldn’t have thrown a fit if  I spring for first class?”

“Maybe?”

“Liar.”

He grunts his concession. Satisfied, Clarke smirks and pulls her headphones over her ears, signaling the end of their conversation. Settling back into her seat, she closes her eyes and finds comfort with an ease that Bellamy is jealous of. The soft hum of her music floats from her headphones and he knows that he is on his own for the rest of the flight. No one is dumb enough to mess with Clarke and her music (Murphy tried once and got punched in the nose for his troubles) and Bellamy was not about to start their little vacation off on the wrong foot. Instead, he fidgets around in his seat some more trying to find the most comfortable position. He comes close a couple of times but never finds the exact spot.

“For fuck’s sake, Bellamy!” Clarke grumbles.

“Sorry! I just can’t get comfortable!”

Clarke rolls her eyes and lifts the armrest between them so there is no longer a barrier. Before he could even open his mouth to ask how exactly  _ that _ would help, she angles herself so that her side is nestled against his and lays her head down on his shoulder. She reaches up and gently lays his head to rest on hers.

“Better?”

“Almost, just-” He shifts his arm so that it rests around her waist and his hand settles in her lap.

“Comfortable yet?” He swears he hears a hitch in her voice, but it could have easily been his heart slamming in his chest.

“Yeah, his voice is low and soft like a breath, the only volume he could pull off and keep his voice steady.

She hums in response and nestles closer until he could listen along to her music if he so chose. Sighing, he lets his head fall against the seat slightly.

He was so  _ very _ fucked.

 

* * *

 

“I remember someone accusing me of being ‘privileged’ and ‘never lifting a finger to help yourself, Princess.’ Remember that?” Clarke punctuates her point with finger quotes and everything.

Bellamy grunts his response as he loads all of their backs into the trunk of their cab. “How do you even remember that? It was more than 3 years ago.”

“It left an impression.” His back is turned, but he can practically feel the eye roll.

“I said I was sorry.”

“And I forgave you,” she pats his shoulder sympathetically though it felt more patronizing, “Doesn’t mean I can’t give you shit for it now and again.”

“I hate you. Why are you my best friend again?”

She slidese her arm through his and pulls him toward the open car door, “Because I’m taking you on an all expense paid trip in  _ Rome _ . I’m winning the best friend of the year right now.”

“Fair point,” he slides into the seat next to her, “Am I ever going to get the full story about that by the way?”

“To the Boscolo, please, ” She tells the cab driver before turning back to him, “I thought I told you already?”

“No, all you said was to pack my bag for Rome because Raven— Wait. Did you just say  _ Boscolo _ ? As in the Boscolo Exedra Roma? The hotel of my  _ dreams?? _ Clarke. What the fuck.”

Clarke can’t help but laugh, “What? I wanted it to be a surprise!”

Something in the back of Bellamy’s mind begins to prickle and he feels like he is missing something  _ very _ important, but doesn’t know what. It was like missing the one puzzle piece that made the image clear. It was maddening.

“Full story. Now.”

Maybe then he would figure this all out.

Clarke sighs and leans back into her seat, “Alright, geez. Take the fun out of  _ everything _ why don’t you.”

“Clarke.”

“I’m getting to it!” she rolls her eyes, “You remember that job I did for Roan a few months back? The large canvas for the bar?”

Bellamy grimaces. He remembered Roan all right, but it was less about the painting and more about him practically kidnapping Clarke and working her half to death to finish the ridiculously complicated commission in less than half the time it would have normally taken. He remembers finding her locked in her studio after skipping god knows how many meals (All for some gaudy awful thing depicting the man as some king) and Bellamy having to literally drag her away to get some sustenance. He also remember that he tried to hire her to do it all again right after he got the piece (thankfully Clarke had turned it down, or Bellamy might have shot the man).

“Yeah, I remember him,” he grumbles.

She pats his knee, “Well as a bonus for the next job, he offered to pay me to go to Rome for ‘inspiration’ for the next piece he wanted.”

“Clarke! You said you were going to turn him down!”

“I did! But then he said he’d pay double and that I would have free reign over the project outside of the Rome inspire theme. Plus, Bellamy,  _ Rome _ .”

“And your first instinct was to take Reyes? Over me? I’m hurt!”

“Shut up, you know you were my immediate thought,” she nudges his shoulder with hers.

He didn’t, but you bet he was going to dream about it now. (Focus Bellamy!)

“Anyways, I needed her here to figure out the technical aspects for the piece. I wanted to incorporate actual lights into the painting and you remember the last time I messed with electricity.”

She short circuited the whole block, not to mention the second degree burns to her fingers (safe to say, he  _ and _ Raven pretty much banned her from the stuff ever again. At least unsupervised and without 911 on speed dial).

“Besides, something came up at Raven’s work and she had to bail out last minute. Instead of going alone and wasting the ticket, I brought you along.” A wicked smile spreads on her face, “And convinced Roan I’d need a week at least to get enough inspiration for the piece and finish it.”

A matching grin spreads on his own face, “Isn’t that against rich people code? Cheating another rich person out of their money?”

“Nah,” she waves him off, “I’m doing him a favor really. Us rich folks have way too much money than we know what to do with. It’s a service really.”

“How noble.”

“What can I say? I’m a saint.”

They burst into laughter, earning them a side-eye glance from the driver, but it only serves to make them laugh harder. Bellamy wipes away the wetness that had gathered at the corners or his eye before clearing his throat.

“But seriously, Clarke. I thought you turned the job down. As much as I love the chance to go to Rome— and stay in the hotel of my dreams— it can wait if it mean you won’t be working yourself to death again.”

“Two things wrong with that statement,” she waves him off, “One, we’re already here. You’re  _ in _ Rome, Bellamy; a little late to go back now. And two, it wasn’t  _ that _ bad.”

“Clarke, I almost had to drag you to the hospital for fluids and sustenance. Through an IV.”

“You did not. Stop being dramatic.”

“Well it was almost to that point!”

Clarke snorts and lays a hand on his knee. It takes all his concentration not to focus on the electricity that runs from each fingertip. (He’s not doing a very good job of it.)

“Bell,” she waits until his eyes meet hers, “I promise that I won’t work myself to death over this project.”

“Really?” He hates how it almost comes out like a plea, but the last time was hard enough.

She blinds him with a bright smile, “Promise.”

“We’ve arrived,” the driver cuts in, pulling the car to a complete stop.

Bellamy’s stupor is snapped at the driver’s words, his eyes immediately flying to the window. Just a few feet away lies the open square, the circular fountain dominating the space and capturing his attention the moment his eyes land on it. His hand reaches for the door handle without him noticing and within seconds he is rushing out. He thinks he hears the faint sound of his name being called, but his feet keep moving until the air becomes tinged with the smell of wet cement and a wave of mist hits his face. It really hits him then. He’s in Rome.  _ He’s in Rome _ . 

“The fountain of Naiads,” Bellamy jumps at the sound of Clarke’s voice, not having heard her walk up. 

“What?” She smiles, “I know  _ some _ history nerd things.”

Bellamy can’t help the twitch of his lips that form into a smirk, “Do you know what this plaza is called?”

She knocks his shoulder with his, “I did say  _ some _ , right? We don’t all have a nerd brain.”

He nudges her back, “Shut up.” His eyes flick back to the fountain.

“We’re standing in the Piazza della Repubblica and this fountain,” he sweeps his hands across them, “ was commissioned by Pope Pius IX in 1870. The original fountain had lions, but Mario R-Rutelli? Had them replaced with Naiads in 1901.”

“There is my history nerd.”

He hears the smile in her voice and it draws his eyes back to her face. The muscles are relaxed, her mouth parted in a slight “o” and her eyes sparkle with amusement tinged with awe. They flicker over every detail the fountain has to offer without a doubt seeing a version of it that he never could (the perks of being artistic he supposes).She is the picture of serenity and beauty. The urge to reach out and touch her is only rivaled by the paralysis of his captivity at the sight.

In the end, his fingers lace with hers.

“It’s beautiful,” he breathes, not really sure if he’s talking about the fountain or her.

 

* * *

 

You would think that for the amount of time Bellamy had spent thinking about this trip that at least at  _ some _ point their hotel arrangements would have crossed his mind. Yet, here he was, standing in the lobby of his dreams having an internal breakdown about the fact that he was most likely about to share a room with the woman he’s pining after. Because — of course— if the ticket was originally for Raven, then Clarke would have had no need to book two hotel rooms (they were roommates for the better part of two years after college) and since she only told him a few days ago, he highly doubts she would have had the time to rearrange the reservation. Thus, Bellamy was royally screwed.

“Hello,” Clarke chirps at the lady manning the front desk, “Reservation for Clarke Griffin.

“One Moment please,” the woman smiles and types something into the computer.

“Is that Griffin with an ‘i’ or an ‘e’?”

“An ‘i.’ G-r-i-f-f-i-n.”

“Thank you,” She inputs the information as quickly as Clarke listed it off. “Ah here you are Ms. Griffin. A reservation for two rooms, correct?”

_ What? _ He is both relieved and disappointed, but mostly confused.

“Yup! They are the panorama rooms correct?”

“Yes Ma'am,” she reaches under the desk and pulls out two key cards, “I will just have to check the credit card you used to book the rooms and you will be set to go.”

“Of course,” Clarke digs into the small patch at the front of her bag before producing the necessary card and handing to the receptionist.

Quickly looking over the information, the woman hands the card back to Clarke and slides the two keys closer to towards them. 

“Thank you very muc, Ms. Griffin. I hope you enjoy your stay!”

Clarke smiles and grabs the keys, “I plan on it!”

Giving the woman a little wave, Clarke loops her free arm with Bellamy’s and drags him away from the desk and towards the elevators. Pulling her suitcase to a stop, she reaches out and pushes the button to call the elevator down, keeping her other arm wrapped around Bellamy’s as they wait.

She pokes the keys into his side, “Pick one.”

“Does it matter?” He picks one anyways.

“Not really.”

Bellamy laughs as his fingers curl around the card, “What floor are we on?”

“I don’t know,” she looks down at her key, “I have 302 so third floor. What room are you?”

“313.” He frowns, “So we’re pretty far apart.”

She shrugs just as the doors slide open, “I’m sure we’ll be seeing each other a lot still. In fact, by the end of the week you’ll be sick of seeing me.”

“Never.”

He meant it to be lighthearted, if not slightly sarcastic, but it comes out harder and a bit incredulous; the thought of ever getting tired of her company coming off as ridiculous and absurd. His mind barely had time to process and reject the sentiment before his mouth blurted it out. He almost panics, thinking his tone was too much for someone who was  _ just _ a friend, and when he sees the smile start to slip from her face, he  _ knows _ it was too much.

“I mean,” he quickly covers, “If I haven’t gotten sick of you after 7 years of knowing you, nothing will drive me away now. Especially not a measly week. Nope, I’m afraid you’re stuck with me forever.” 

Her smile grows back, but it’s smaller this time and more tender, “I think I can live with that.”

 

* * *

 

“Tell me again why you’re following me when your room is in the opposite direction?”

The hall is empty and silent beside the soft rolling of wheels from their suitcases and the trickle of their conversation.

“Because there is no way in hell that I’m going to miss this.”

They finally reach room 313 and Bellamy moves to unlock the door. “Miss what?”

The lock clicks into place and he pushes the door open, a floor to ceiling glass door and uninterrupted view of the plaza greeting him.The keys drop from his hands.

“That.”

He staggers inside, one foot moving in front of the other until his nose is inches from the glass. He hears the click of the door closing behind him and turns to see Clarke rolling his forgotten bag to the foot of his bed and toss the room key onto the bed. Her eyes are shining bright with uncontained amusement and a bright smile tugs on her lips.

“Well what are you waiting for? Open them up!” she waves him forward.

Turning back around, he throws open the glass doors and walks out onto the tiny balcony just wide enough for someone to stand out on and look at the city below. The faint scent of water floats in the air along with the bustle of life in the streets below. It was beautiful.

“Clarke, this is amazing!” he turns, “Just, wow.”

“I thought you would like it,” she smirks, “I made sure to specifically request the rooms with the best views, though I hope you don’t mind the lack of space that comes with it.”

For the first time since he opened the door, he takes in the room around him. Clarke was right, the room wasn’t the most spacious, the bed on the wall dominating most of the free space with a small writing desk and seating area taking up the opposite corners near the foot of it. The room was also batherd in neutral tones such as beiges and whites with soft specks of yellow from the warm glow of the lamp and wallpaper pattern. His eyes slid to the view before him and he finds that he doesn’t really care what the room looked like. He was in the city of his dreams with the girl of his dreams — and possible love of his life? — and staying in the hotel of his dreams with the most breathtaking view he could ask for.

“I love it,” he crosses the room and wraps her in an embrace, placing a soft kiss on her cheek, “Thank you.”

A faint blush tinged her cheeks, and she ducks her head.

“No problem, Bell.” she softly squeezes him back before stepping out of his arms, “I’m going to let you get settled in, but did you want to meet up for dinner? We could get something in the hotel or go out and explore?”

“Let’s go out!” he responds quickly enough, earning himself another smile.

“Out it is. Meet at the lobby in 3 hours?” she walks toward the door, bag rolling behind her.

“Yeah that sounds perfect.” he walks her out the door, “I’ll see you then.”

“Bye Bellamy.”

He stands in the doorway and watches her go. He stands there a bit too long after she disappears around the corner before he closes the door and collapses onto the bed. The flight and early morning was finally catching up to him and he could feel his eyes start to droop as his body melted into the soft mattress and blankets. He remained awake enough to set an alarm to wake him up in time for their dinner, but his thoughts already began to slip. Perhaps that’s why his mind doesn’t quite understand why Clarke would have booked two rooms (especially one picked out specifically for him) if Raven had supposedly dropped out last minute.

 

* * *

 

As expected when you decide to find a place to eat in a foreign country, it took Bellamy and Clarke about two hours to find a restaurant they both agreed to (a little italian place with outdoor seating that overlooked the city) and about another couple of hours to eat and argue over the check (Bellamy won). By the time they stumbled back to the hotel, it was just a little after midnight and they are both dragging their feet to the elevator. They had parted ways with promises to meet the next morning for some exploring and Bellamy promptly fell asleep the moment his head hit the pillow.

Yet despite the long night and jetlag catching up to him, Bellamy was up bright and early the next day, a cup of coffee warming his hand and the waking city of Rome spread before him. A knock on his door draws him from his internal musing and  he takes another sip of the steaming liquid before placing it down on the writing desk and going to open the door. Crossing the room in a few steps, he opens the door to find Clarke, her lips sealed around the lip of her own coffee cup and  pair of sunglasses perched on her nose. She is dressed comfortably in a pair of shorts, a striped halter top and her pair of chucks that are speckled with white paint that he hates but she loves (she spilled the paint on them years ago and simply refused to throw them out).

It is moments like these that Bellamy is reminded that Clarke is from California instead of his hometown in Virginia where they both live. Normally she is always dressed as if the weather would turn sour at any moment (as it often does) but seeing her here dressed for the warmth and her blonde curls appearing more vibrant and alive than he thinks he’s ever seen them and it’s hard to image her anywhere else. She looked like she embodied the sun, so warm and radiant that you couldn't help but close your eyes and soak her in.

“Oh good you’re dressed.” she comments, shoving her way past him, “After we eat we can just head out.”

He blinks at her then at the alarm clock on the nightstand. “It’s 7:03.”

“Congratulations you can tell time.”

“You’re awake.”

Clarke looks down at her person before meeting his gaze again, this time with a raised eyebrow. “Well it definitely appears so.”

“Who are you and what have you done with my best friend?”

Clarke never got up early. Ever. The one and only time he tried to get her out of bed before 10, she threw a shoe at him and didn’t speak to him for a couple of days (probably because of the bruise the marred his cheek for the subsequent week after the fact). So you can understand his genuine surprise to see her not only conscious at 7 am, but verbally responding with only a little more than her usual snark.

“Ha ha, very funny. Do you want your bagel or not?” She holds up the white paper bag she had been holding in her other hand.

He eyes the bag and then the cup in her hand. “Exactly how much caffeine have you had so far that you’re not only up before 10, but awake enough to get us breakfast?”

“None.” she tosses the bag at him (which he catches thankfully) and takes another drink from her cup. “I’ve gone for something a litte more quicker, sugar.”

Bellamy grimaces, “Hot chocolate with whip cream?”

“And a dash of caramel.”

“Clarke!”

“I’m an adult Bellamy. I can drink  _ whatever _ sugary concoction I please,  _ when _ I please.”

He rips open the bag and pulls out one of the two bagels and shoves it toward her. “At least eat so your body gets  _ some _ nutrients before you have a heart attack.” 

She snorts but takes the bagel.“That  _ was _ the plan.” She takes a bite and pointedly chews and swallows. “Happy?”

“Elated.”

“Shut up and eat.”

He tosses a wadded up napkin at her, but she swats it away and sticker out her tongue. After that they sit down at the little seating area and eat their breakfast as the trade back and forth stories from their weeks. When finished they tossed away their trash and made their way towards the lobby.

“What are we doing today anyways?” he asks as they wait for the elevator.

“I don’t know it’s up to you, really.”

“Really?”

Clarke shrugs, “Yeah, I’m game for whatever, but you must have a list of things you want to see.”

Bellamy hums, “That is true, but I don’t want to bore you by dragging you to all these historical sites, where I will undoubtedly go on long tangents about the historical significance of said site.”

“Bellamy,” her voice is stern, “You could never bore me. This city means so much to you, so whatever you want to do we can do it. Don’t worry about what I want.”

“I will always worry about what you want.”

She smiles and knocks her shoulder against his, “I know and I love you for it, but seriously, today is all about you.” He opens his mouth to protest, but she cuts him off. “If it really bothers you, tomorrow can be my day.”

“Okay,” he says after a moment, a smile on his face as he returns the knock with his own shoulder.

“Okay?”

“Yeah, today can be mine. So want to hit the famous spots?”

The smile that breaks out across her face can only be described as gleeful with a hint of mischief.

“I was hoping you would say that.” She quickly pulls out her phone and taps away, “I already did some research and we are only, at most, 15 minutes away from all the major tourist spots. And I think we are only 20 or so minutes from Vatican city, but I’d have to change for that one.”

The thought of covering up that golden beauty seemed utterly ridiculous, Vatican City be damned (even if a primal part of him wanted to keep that beauty all for himself). The elevation doors slide open and they step out into the lobby..

“So which spot is the closest?”

She scrolls through the list, “ The Spanish Steps, I believe.”

“Hmm, let’s end there then. That way we can grab a bite to eat before walking back.”

“Good plan, so start at the farthest?”

“Yup,” he pops the ‘p,’ “So where are we heading?”

“Uh,” she squints at her phone, “The Colosseum.”

“Well,” he offers Clarke his arm, “looks like we have our destination, princess.”

“It seems we do, good sir.” She loops her arm through his and they stride across the lobby in search of a cab.

 

* * *

 

By the time they make it back to the hotel the sun has long since sunken below the horizon and the city around them had began to quiet down. Between them their hands hang intertwined like they have been for hours. At some point in the day when the crowds of people began to trickle in, Clarke’s hand had found his and linked their fingers. She said it was so they did not get separated (Not all of us are trees, Bellamy. We short folk tend to get lost in crowds) and he would have believed her if not when they escaped the crowds and were walking down empty halls and alleys that her hand remained wrapped around his own.

Perhaps she forgot and simply didn’t notice, though he doesn’t know how she could (he couldn’t notice anything  _ but _ the heat of her touch). For fear that she would let go if he said something, he remained silent, reveling in the feeling and pretending — just for a moment— that he had the privilege to it any time.

So he rode the high of being in Rome seeing the sights that he never thought he would ever see with the woman of his dreams (because let’s face it, Clarke was a thing of fiction) and it dawns on his that today was only the first day. He would have an entire week to get lost in the city. He stops walking, jerking Clarke to a halt and causing her to give him a confused look.

“Hey is everything okay?” Clarke worries, her eyes searching his body up and down for any signs of pain and discomfort that wasn’t there.

He doesn’t respond, instead gently tugs on her hand until she wordlessly steps into his space. Letting their fingers fall apart, he slides his hand up her arm and holds her against him. He presses his lips to the crown of her head and rests his head on top of hers.

“Thank you, for bringing me here.” his voice is soft as a whisper.

He hears a hitch in her breath, but she remains silent, just wrapping her arms around him and bunching the back of his shirt in her hands.

“You’re welcome, Bell.” she mumbles into his chest.

“No, thank you so much. Being with you here,” he pulls away — just slightly— to meet her gaze, “It is everything I could have dreamed of.”

She chuckles softly, ducking her head in hope to his the flish that had spread to her cheeks (he sees it anyways).

“It is only the first day. Give it a few more and you’ll be sick of me.”

His hands move to cradle her cheeks, “This right here? It’s perfect. No matter how many days pass or how many sights we visit is going to change that. I’ve dreamed of Rome Clarke, but it was you —  _ you _ who made it a reality.”

He rests his forehead against hers, eyes closing, “Thank you.”

Clarke lets looks a shaky breath, “Bellamy?”

“Yeah?”

“I-”

She pauses and his eyes slide open. Her blue eyes are on his, shining with emotion as they search his face. Her pupils are blown and her mouth hangs slightly open as if she had gasped for air and forgot to swallow it. It makes him want to kiss her.

“Clarke?” his brows pinch together and his hands slide to her shoulders.

The shift must have shaken her from her thoughts because her mouth snaps shut and her eyes close. He would be lying if he said his heart didn’t break just a little.

“Nothing, it’s nothing.” She shakes her head, “I’m just glad you are enjoying this trip. You deserve to be happy.”

As she pulls away, he can’t help but feel like he is missing an opportunity.

 

* * *

 

The next morning it is Bellamy who finds himself standing in the hall before Clarke’s door, breakfast in one hand and a tray with coffee in the other. It was a little later than when they had originally agreed to meet, but after his morning coffee on the balcony, he decided that she deserved to sleep in (after all it was  _ her _ vacation too). Hitting the doorbell with an elbow, he leans against a wall and waits. There is a soft thud followed by the sounds of objects haphazardly being thrown about and he cannot help but smile at the familiarity. After all, some things never change no matter where you are. As the noise of commotion drew closer to the door, Bellamy pushed himself off the wall just in time for a bundle of blonde hair to swing open the door.

Bellamy holds up their coffee, “I bring coffee.”

“Oh thank god,” she greedily grabs for a cup and brings it to her lips.

It’s then that he notices the swipe of blue paint across her cheek or that her fingers are stained black or that speckles of gold and white are dotting her arms and shirt (really she is just covered in paint). Yet, as he looks around the room he sees no actual signs of an easel or canvas.

“Uh, did you get into a paint fight between last night and this morning or this a new fashion statement?”

“Huh?”

He points to his cheek that mirrors the swipe on her own face, “You have a bit of blue here and it looks like you dipped your fingers in ink.”

She looks at the cup in her hands and sure enough there are black smudges from where she touched.

“Oops,” she shrugs and takes another drink, “I got caught up in some painting and I guess I lost track of time.” She waves him in and he shuts the door behind him. “What time is it anyways?”

“A little after 10.”

“10!” She whirls around, “We were supposed to meet at 8!”

This time it is Bellamy’s turn to shrug, “I thought you deserved to sleep in a bit. After all this is a vacation.”

She rolls her eyes, crossing her arms and leaving fresh black marks where her fingers touched, “Yes, but now we are going to have to fight the crowds.”

“I don’t mind,” he shrugs, “If it’s too crowded we can always leave and come back a different day.”

Clarke purses her lips, but concedes to his point, “Fine. Let me just hop in the shower real quick and de-paintify myself. 15 minutes top.”

Bellamy waves her off and plops down on the bed, “Go ahead, I can entertain myself for that long. Breakfast will be waiting when you’re done.”

She perks up at that, “You brought food too?”

He holds up the bag, “Mhmm.”

She reaches for the bag, but he pulls it out of her reach, “Shower then food.”

“You suck,” she pouts, but moves for her suitcase.

She pulls a free a few articles of clothing before disappearing into the bathroom with a warning for him not to fall asleep while waiting (despite both of them knowing she was more likely to fall asleep in the shower than him). When the door clicks shut and Bellamy hears the water turn on, he allows himself to fall back against the bed so he was staring at the ceiling. He has known Clarke for long enough to know that when she says 15 minutes she really means 30 (she likes really long showers).

Sighing, he rolls onto his side and pulls out his phone, resigning himself to mindless scrolling through social media until Clarke reemerges ready to go. He manages to exhaust both facebook and instagram before the shower water even goes off. (After all there is only so much of Octavia’s fitness motivation pictures, Miller and Monty’s obnoxiously cute selfies or just bottles and bottles of alcohol that Jasper and Murphy have seemed to consume a man can take.)

He drops his phone onto the bed before rolling onto his side then his back again and then onto his other side. By his estimation he had another 5 minutes before Clarke will get out of the shower and another 10 for her to get dressed and put on whatever make-up she was going to wear for the day (it tend to vary depending on her mood) and he was already out of ways to entertain himself. Sitting up, he looks around the room considering his options. There is a book laying off the side on the end table or he could open up youtube on his phone and watch random videos that popped up on his feed. Neither seemed that tempting. A slight flutter of the curtain draws his eye to the balcony doors, which were left slightly ajar. 

Piquing his interest, Bellamy pushes himself off the bed and crosses the room to the balcony. Spending his time people watching sounded like a better alternative than laying around and reading or watching youtube. Deciding, he pushes open the doors expecting to just lean against the rail and enjoy a cool breeze when the sight that greets him throws those plans out the window. 

Sitting on an easel at the corner of the balcony is a large canvas of himself. Or at least the workings of him.

It was obvious that Clarke was still working on the piece but the figure on the canvas bore a remarking resemblance to him, but also not. The man in the painting had an ethereal aura about him with his person being in stark contrast to the pitch black background which bleeds into a depiction of the roman skyline lit at night. He is only drawn from the chest up with his face tilted toward the sky and his eyes shut. In his hair a golden laurel wreath lies buried in his dark curls, the color shimmering in contrast to the inky locks. Yet, perhaps the most alluring aspect of the man is that he is dripping with the galaxies. Across the bridge of his nose and down his cheeks, stars were splattered in a mixture of white paint and golden speck. Where his body and skin end it drips into hues of blues, pinks, and purples that mimic the galaxies.

It was beautiful.

His eyes flick up and down the canvas, drinking in every detail and trying to memorize it. At the same time his heart pounds in his chest and his mind reels with realization that Clarke could look at him and see  _ that _ . That in her eyes his body is alive with the stars, stars so carefully and painstakingly painted in great detail. It screamed of a labor of love — love that she put into a work of him.

The click of the bathroom lock sliding unlocked pulls him from his stupor and he quickly closes the door, crosses the room back to the bed, and arranges himself to appear the picture of calm and boredom (of which he is neither). When the door of the bathroom opens, he can’t help but feel a sense of guilt and dread crawl up his throat. In hindsight, he realizes that it’s ridiculous; he —a grown man— is acting like a kid with his hand in the cookie jar when in reality Clarke probably wouldn’t care that he saw her art (she was normally pretty open with her projects), but the intimacy of the piece threw him for a loop and he couldn’t help but feel like it was an intrusion.

So instead he pulls out his phone and pretends that he never saw anything at all.

“Okay, I’m all set.” Clarke says as she emerges from the bathroom, “I hope I didn’t make you wait too long.”

“Not at all,” he rises, tucking his phone into the pocket of his jeans, “I’ve known you too long to believe any sort of time estimate you give me.”

“Shut up!” She playfully shoves his shoulder, a smile consuming her face. His heart races at the sight and his eyes immediately dart to the balcony doors.

“Bellamy?”

His eyes snap back to her face, “Huh?”

“I said are you ready to go? I figured we could do a museum or two today, but if you’re not up for it...”

“No!” he hastily recovers, “That sounds perfect. Sorry my mind must still be catching up this morning.”

She eyes him curiously, brow furrowed and her bottom lip pulled slightly by her teeth. It was the same look she had on her faces when she was first figuring out the details of a sketch or painting. Like she was solving a puzzle. His throat bobs as he swallows.

“If you say so,” she drawls, still eyeing him.

“Yeah, come on. If we wait any longer we’ll be fighting crowds.”

Her expression seems to clear at that and a small smile tugs on her lips.

“Well we wouldn’t want that now would we?”She loops her arm around his and tugs him toward the door, “Come on!”

He lets himself get dragged along, thinking that he’s in the clear. When really he should have know that just because he pretends that he never saw anything doesn’t mean he really didn’t. And some doors just can’t be shut once they were open.

 

* * *

 

Despite his best efforts, Bellay could not scrub the painting from his mind. Instead, the pieces of it would bleed into the artwork on the museum wall or when Clarke’s hand would find his, all he can see is the black that had painted her fingers that morning —the same black that coated the canvas. They had barely made it an hour in before Clarke sighed heavily and dragged Bellamy by his hand to a bench outside, shoving him down and crossing her arms.

“Okay, seriously Bellamy. What is going on? You’ve been distracted all morning.”

He groans and runs a hand over his face, “I know, I know! I’m sorry, I’m just having some trouble concentrating.”

“Are you not feeling well?”

He opens his mouth the say that he is just fine, but catches himself in the last minute.“ Yeah, I think I must have eaten something funny last night and laying down this morning must have made it worse.”

Her mouth curls downward, “Why didn’t you say anything earlier? We could have put today off!”

He shrugs half-heartedly, trying to seem as pathetic as possible (the more she worried the less closely she’d look) “I didn’t want to ruin your trip.”

Her eyes soften and her arms fall to her side, “You’re not going to ruin my trip because you’re not feeling well. Besides how many times do I have to tell you that this trip is as much yours as it is mine.”

“I know,” he sighs and drops his head into his hands.

“Good. Let’s get you back to the hotel.”

“No, it’s fine I can-”

“You can nothing. We’re going back to the hotel and you’re going to crawl into bed while I hunt down some crackers and a fizzy drink.”

“But-”

“Who here was the almost doctor?”

“I don’t think that really-”

“That’s right, me. Now come on.”

She reaches down and laces her fingers with his, gently but forcibly tugging on them until he relents and allows her to drag him back to the hotel. From there she bullies him into bed and makes him stay there as she scrambles about getting him things for his non-existent illness. He would feel guilt if not for the immense relief that washed over him the moment the door closed behind her (along with orders to rest). He waits a few moments, knowing for a fact that she was listening at the door in case he should move (he made that mistake before and earned quite the lecture about taking care of himself). When he hears the tell tale signs of her steps walking away, he leaps from the bed and strides toward the balcony. Closing the doors behind him, he pulls out his phone, taps on the Viber icon he had downloaded before his trip, and calls the only person who can sort out his thoughts. 

The phone rings for about a minute before a muffled hello is heard.

“Octavia?”

“Bellamy? Wha-what’s going on? Are you okay?”

“I’m freaking out O and I need your help.”

“Woah, woah, calm down and start from the beginning.”

Bellamy rakes a hand through his hair and leans against the railing, a huge sigh blowing through him.

“Is Clarke in love with me?”

The works stick to his throat and feel heavy on his tongue, but hearing them aloud lifts a weight that’s been on his chest from the moment his eyes landed on that painting. What had put him on edge all afternoon was not the fact that Clarke had painted him as her subject (he has been the object of a fair amount of her sketches over the course of their friendship) but seeing the love pouring out of each brush stroke forced him to face a realization that he’s not so sure he’s ready to face. He had convinced himself for so long that he was fine with nothing more than her friendship —that she was worth more as a friend than nothing at all— but now, having been faced with the possibility that maybe — just maybe—  she wanted it too, he was  _ terrified _ . Terrified that he could be wrong. Terrified that he could be  _ right _ .

He realizes that Octavia had been unusually quiet for the bomb he had just dropped on her. “O?”

“Call Raven.”

And with that the line goes dead and he is left staring at the screen dumbfounded. He tried to call back, but the line disconnects straight away. Instead, he gets a text a few seconds later.

**Octavia:** Call. Raven.                                   11:16 am

Bewildered, but desperate for any help, he scrolls through his contacts and taps on Raven’s photo. The phone rings for a considerably longer time before the line picks up, only to be cut short. He calls again and the same thing happens. It is not until the third call that he is met with a growl.

“What the fuck do you want?”

“Octavia told me to call you,” he admits because if he’s going to face Raven’s ire, it is only fair that his sister does at well (he’s feeling pretty vindictive right now).

“She’s a dead woman.”

“Kindly kill her after you help me.”

Raven grumbles and Bellamy can hear her rolling around in bed.

“What is so important that you had to call me at 5 am?”

He winces, “Sorry, I didn’t even look at what time it was over there.”

“Yeah, yeah. What do you want?”

This time he decides to take a different approach, “Why couldn’t you come to Rome?”

There is a moment of silence before the phone goes dead. He calls her back.

“Raven!” he growls.

“Why the fuck is this my life?” she grumbles more to herself than to him.

“Look,” Bellamy sags against the railing, “I’ve been going out of my mind because I saw… something. Something that could change everything, but I need to be sure. Because if I’m not, I could lose Clarke.”

“And why I couldn’t go to Rome is going to help out with that?”

“I’m really hoping so.”

Raven sighs and shifts around some more, “Okay.”

“Thank you.” Relief hits him like a tidal wave for the second time that day and if it were not for the railing at his back, he would have sunk to his knees.

“What did she tell you?”

“That you were supposed to come with her to figure out the wiring for a piece Clarke is doing for Roan’s latest commission and that you couldn’t make it because of some work emergency.”

Raven snorts, “Bellamy, listen to yourself. Do you think that for one moment Clarke would chose  _ me over you _ to go to Rome? Honestly Blake, it’s not even a good lie.”

“But-”

“Besides, Clarke finished Roan’s piece weeks ago and I just put the final touches on the electrical wiring last night. Beautiful piece really. You should go see it when Roan hangs it up in that gaudy bar of his.”

“Wait what? Clarke told me that Roan gave her a bonus to do a commission in Rome.”

Another snort, “Yeah right, like Roan would be stupid enough to send Clarke on a vacation and expect her to do any actual work.”

“But-”

“The bonus part is true. Roan did give her a large sum of money to finish the piece before she left to go on vacation.”

“Wait  _ before _ she left? As in she had these tickets before he even commissioned another piece?”

“Yup.” she pops the ‘p.’

“Holy shit.”

“Ah so the pieces are finally clicking together, are they? Can I go back to sleep now?”

“Holy fucking shit.”

“I’ll take that as a no.”

All he can hear is the pounding of his heart and the rush of blood in his ears. Clarke had lied to him. She lied about why she had taken him and lied about how she could even afford to do so —she was rich, but not spontaneously take trips to Rome rich (or so he had thought). And if she lied about that, it means she planned this entire trip for him. Because  _ he _ wanted to see Rome. Because he  _ dreamed _ of it.

“Holy shit.”

“Okay dude you have to stop saying that.”

“Is- is Clarke in love with me?” The words are harder to get out the second time.

“Do you really need me to answer that?”

“Holy shit.”

“Bellamy.”

“Sorry, just,” he lets loose a shaky breath (partly from relief but mostly from sheer unbelievability).

“It’s okay take a minute. I’ll just go back to sleep.”

“What do I do?”

Raven groans, “Look Bellamy. You just found out the love of your life loves you back. Kiss her. Fuck her. I don’t care. Figure it out.”

The line goes dead and he is staring at his phone for a second time that morning. Much like last time, his phone buzzes with a text message.

**Raven:** Don’t fuck this up Blake or I will destroy you.                          11:18 am

A bubble of laughter bursts from his lips until his whole body shakes from it and his eyes wet with unshed tears. The final piece clicks into place and he knows what he’s going to do. Tapping away from Raven’s message, he pulls up a text thread with Clarke.

**Bellamy:** Go to dinner with me      11:20 am

 **Clarke:** You’re sick go to bed        11:21 am

 **Bellamy:** Clarke.                            11:21 am

**Bellamy:**  Go to dinner with me.

**Clarke:** Okay                                 11:29 am

He stares at her reply, a smile working its way on his lips and his heart pounding against his ribcage. After a few minutes have passed, he tucks the phone away and pushes himself off the railing. It was time he got to work.

 

* * *

 

He tugs on the sleeve of his shirt and adjust his tie for what seems like the 100th time. Contrary to what most people think, he  _ likes _ suits. He likes the way it makes him look. On a normal day he was passable for handsome (not being conceited, just truthful) but something about a suit brings to light some of his more mature features, like the cut of his jaw or the slim but muscular build of his body. All things that just screamed undeniably male and gave him a confidence that he normally didn’t have in casual clothing.

The fact that Clarke can never seem to take her eyes off him when he wears one doesn’t hurt either.

Still, standing in the hall outside Clarke’s door, knowing that he was about to put it all out in the field — that he was going to bare his heart for her to see— makes him feel awkward and nervous in a way that he hasn’t been since he was 15. He wipes his palms on the leg of his pants.

“Now or never, Bellamy.” he mutters to himself.

Taking one last glance at his watch (right on time) he raises his hand to knock.

“One second!”

He chuckles to himself and just listens to the noises of all her rushing around because something just never change. And he’s not sure he ever wants them too. They are all just so Clarke, the girl he’s in love with.

The door opens. Her hair had been curled so the blonde locks fall down her shoulders in soft waves and her lips were painted a crimson. She had also lined her eyes in a black wing that made the blue of her eyes pop extraordinary. 

She was beautiful. 

Then his eyes fell onto her dress.

The deep V of the black material fell to her sternum giving him a generous view of her cleavage and voluptuous swell of her breasts before cinching in at her tiny waist and the remaining cloth falling down her legs, which were on full display thanks to the thigh-high slits on either side of her dress. Her feet were strapped into sandaled heels that made her normally short legs impossibly longer, her toes painted the same shade of red that painted her lips.

She was downright sinful.

Her eyes dipped to his lips and something snapped. His hands cup her face and pulls her forward until his lips crash against hers. Within seconds, she is returning the kiss with equal fever, wrapping her arms over his shoulders and standing on the tips of her toes (as much as her shoes would allow her anyways).

Soon they are left breathless and are forced to break the kiss, Bellamy resting his forehead against her as they struggle for air.

“I had a plan I swear.”

She laughs and lightly pecks him, “Oh I’m sure you did. I’m just glad I got the dress code right.” She kisses him again.

“I was going to woo you with a fancy dinner and impress you with my nerdiness about Rome and random history facts no one cares about. Then I would win you over with my horrible choice in wine and convince you that I’m a total catch.”

“You are a total catch.”

“It was going to be romantic and at the end of the night I was going to sweep you into my arm and tell you how much I love you. How much I’ve loved you probably since the first moment I met you.”

“Even when I was a pain in your ass?”

“Especially when you were a pain in my ass.”

“That’s good because I love you yoo.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Their lips lock once more, but this time it’s slower, more gentle, as if they were taking their time because they  _ could _ . This time it is Clarke who breaks away.

“So what did it?” she asks breathless.

Bellamy chuckles, “I saw your painting and called Octavia, who then told me to call Raven.”

“Traitor,” she mumbles.

“How else was I going to figure it out?”

She cocks a brow, “I literally took you on an all expense trip to the city of your dreams. Subtle, I was not.”

“You could have just  _ said _ something,”  he rolls his eyes.

Her entire face flushes and her eyes drop, “I wasn’t sure you felt the same way.”

He cups her cheeks and raises her face until her eyes met his again. “I do.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.” he kisses her deeply, pushing her farther into the room.

“So no dinner?”

“Not dressed like that,” he growls.

“Well maybe you should help me change,” she smirks, sliding one strap off her shoulder.

“I can do that.”

He moves closer to her, hand sliding down her bare shoulder, pushing the dress further down. He captures her lips once more and kicks the door closed.

Best vacation ever.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments give me life! Tell me what you thought or come yell at me over on Tumblr @TheBashfulPoet! I love hearing from you all!


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